


Waffuru

by Davechicken



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:16:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4542936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Gabriel and waffles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waffuru

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TeaTimeForMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaTimeForMe/gifts).



Sam Winchester is honey. Gabriel feels mildly guilty for stealing the bee-stuff mantle from Castiel, but the feeling is as fleeting as any unwelcome thought. Brushed aside, put somewhere dark to be properly ignored (read: occasionally worried about in the dark, when the noise of fun gets too quiet to cover over the hissing thoughts of sadness). Castiel may like bees, but Sam is definitely honey.

He has that quality to him, like he's bottled the sunlight somehow, like he radiates it out. Nature spends so much time harvesting little bits of pollen and turning it into sticky-sweet awesomeness. And one day he can flow like a river, his puppy-enthusiasm seeping into every waffle-crook and cranny. Those little pockets of emptiness like a squishy honeycomb needing his gushing exuberance to pad them out. And then other days, he's colder. Life throws him one too many curveballs and he gums up, needs forcibly pulling out of his little blob of angst and self-loathing.

Honey. Sam is honey.

Dean, on the other hand, is balsamic vinegar. On his own he's this sharp, tangy little dark smear that somehow ruins your clothes whilst still staying on the surface like an oily smear. He's bitter, and long-vintaged. Beyond vintaged. 

But put Dean on a strawberry and suddenly it's incredible the transformation. The bitter works perfectly, and you realise he's just not made to be alone. He needs that sugar to balance him out, like ying and yang. Delicious, delicious yang. 

Crowley is the richest, darkest chocolate sauce you can imagine. There's no questioning it. A short shot of him and you're overwhelmed, but in a good way. Without a waffle, pouring it into your mouth alone would make you gag. You can't cope with him for extended periods of time without something to cleanse your palate, but you can't quite... discount him.

He sits in the cupboard, and you know that you simply _cannot_ imagine your breakfast routine without him somewhere in there. And you feel guilty whenever you do take him out, because there's nothing healthy or natural about the rich burst of flavour in your mouth. It just feels good, and that's all there is to it.

Castiel is the hardest to pin down. Gabriel tries very had to work out what on earth his younger brother is, cycling through all his favourite toppings. Is he squirty cream? All high-pressure then fluff? Is he maple syrup? Bananas? Cherries?

For one brief moment, he wonders if Castiel is the _waffle_ , but then Gabriel himself is the waffle, surely? 

The archangel looks at the collection of his favourite condiments, pushing at them with an idle pout. Castiel is there, watching him. Maybe he has performance anxiety. Maybe he can't name someone who is watching him eat.

"Gabriel..."

"No, I nearly have it."

"You have been trying to decide which thing to put on your last waffle for seventeen minutes."

"It's an important decision!"

"I need your help."

Gabriel glares at him. "This is a matter of extra-national security."

"It is a waffle."

"It's your waffle!"

Castiel glares at him in return, and they play stare-chicken. Except neither of them needs to blink. This could go on a while, or as long as his pride beats out his impatience. But then Castiel cheats and pours everything - one after the other - onto the last waffle.

It's a travesty. It's an ungodly orgy of metaphorical, voodoo stand-ins. It will taste weirdly delicious.

"Now that wasn't nice."

"Please, eat. You said you would help me after breakfast."

"Fine, but you... you're..." He waved at the mess. "You're not even a syrup. You're like the coffee. You're the reason people do dumb things quicker, and with more energy. And you smell better than you taste, and you go great with everything."

Castiel simply does that arch look, and Gabriel shrugs. "Also you burn the tongue if you're drunk too fast." He spears the final waffle and puts a tiny amount of sugar-high into his mouth, chewing noisily and aggressively.

"I have no idea what you are referring to, but you need to come with me, now."

Gabriel gestures to the rest of his plate, and smirks when his brother relents. Arms across his chest, the little latte froths in anticipation.

Definitely coffee.


End file.
